Jerizael
by Inkie
Summary: A stubborn Abhorsen must travel where she would not go. Into Ancelstierre.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. Except the plot. I didn't even make up the name: Jerizael was breifly mention in Abhorsen as the 47th Abhorsen. So... yeah.

**S**he quickly slashed at the Dead Hand, cutting it across the chest. It screamed and lunged toward her, scratching ruthlessly. Her face was a blend of amusement and wild ferocity. Another slash of the sword, the Hand fell to the ground, a moan slipping out of its throat. She quickly pulled two silver bells from the leather bandolier slung diagonally across her chest. The mahogany handles and silver plating were covered with the flow of Charter marks, never ceasing and beautiful in their mystery.

She rang Saraneth first. Its powerful tone echoed down the hilltop and throughout the surrounding country side. As she completed the figure-eight, she lifted the other bell and let its soft melody join with the strong sound of the Binder. She sent Dyrim into the air with a practiced flick of the wrist and caught it as it drifted down. The Dead below her gave in easily to the power of the bells. She had bound it to her will, and given it the ever-important gift of speech. The Hand waited for her orders.

"What was your name?" the necromancer asked, bending down to get her face even with that of the Dead Hand's.

"Rellin," it replied, its voice grating.

"How did you die?" her voice was soft, and her eyes stayed transfixed on the rotting face before her.

"I was attacked, they killed me."

"Who killed you?"

"My family."

"Why?"

"To save me."

"Did you come out of Death on your own?"

"No."

She had heard enough. The necromancer pulled out Kibeth and rang it in a u-shape, sending the Hand walking into Death; hopefully all the way to the Ninth Precinct and beyond.

"Let's go home, Mogget," she turned and stood, walking down the hill. As if from nowhere, a short bearded man started trotting behind her. He wore a pale frock with a vivid red belt, upon which hung a silver bell: Saraneth. He looked at the necromancer, his piercing green eyes interrogative.

"You should have asked who summoned her." The man said.

"That's no fun," came the reply.

"Stupidest reason I've heard. How could you be having fun? All you do is kill things that aren't living in the first place."

Perhaps she was stupid. She had never thought about it before. But even if she wasn't, Mogget would tell her she was. That was how he had fun. She had fun fighting. She sheathed her sword then pushed some stray black hairs behind a pale ear. Her face was dramatic, and made more so by her jet black hair. A blue surcoat powdered with silver keys draped her strong shoulders and the bell sleeves hung from her muscled arms. She wore travelers' boots and khaki breeches, and plenty of other layers consisting of a light scale-like amour, soft cotton under things and stockings. Winter was approaching the Old Kingdom.

She glanced to the south, and she could just see the winding stripe of the Wall. The sky was full of bright shining stars on this side, but the sun drifted lazily up on the other. She had heard tales about the other side. You couldn't use magic, and people used things like explosives and some strange power source called 'gasoline'. It all seemed so foreign to her. She would never cross that Wall willingly.

Mogget turned to her, having kept going after she stopped to look at the scenery. "Jerizael, we need to get back to the House. I want dinner."

She turned, ready with a rebuttal, but he was already walking again. And so, she followed him, leaving the Wall and that strange world on the other side in the back of her mind. Soon, they would be at the House and the wonderful sunrise as seen from Barhedrin Hill would be only a dim memory.


	2. Chapter One: Avis

**Disclaimer: **Sorry it's so short, guys! I've been working on this on and off for a while now, hope you enjoy it!

**D**inner was delicious; a perfect blend of rice, beans and meat. The bread was warm and fresh and the salad was crisp and refreshing. Jerizael patted her mouth dry with her napkin and stood from the table. Mogget slipped off his chair and gave her an inquisitive look.

"What are you going to do about the thing we found just earlier? You know, we must find the necromancer that brought her back. We can't have dead things running around when they visit," he put a special emphasis on 'they' giving a vague gesture towards the various Charter Sendings running around.

"I know that, of course. I'll be returning there shortly to deeper explore the problem. After that, we can make the preparations for their arrival," Jerizael replied. Mogget's eyes grew sharp.

"You're going back? But you've only just eaten and the moon is full! Do you really think it smart to go looking for the necromancer tonight?"

"I'm going back."

Jerizael swiftly walked away, leaving a disgruntled Mogget behind her. She came into the large bedroom and smiled to see that the Sendings had already set out her clothes. They quickly dressed her and then left the room while she strapped on her bells and sword. She had to get this thing sorted out by noon the next day, before her guests showed up. With a quick glance in the mirror, she stepped out of the room. Mogget waited for her, his normal grimace on his face.

"I don't see why this can't wait until tomorrow. It's getting quite dark and there isn't a cloud in sight. You know the moon will only encourage them." This sort of sentiment would have seemed kindly, if he hadn't said it with such smugness.

"I'm not as stupid as you think I am. The necromancer will surely be at work on a night like this. All the easier to find him."

"Well, just to let you know, I recently received a message that they will be getting here earlier than expected. Probably just after first light."

"Splendid." She turned away and walked down the steps, frowning. That must mean they were traveling now. At night. This didn't bode well. Opening the door, she looked back at Mogget and gave a grim-looking smile. "May the Charter be with me tonight." She muttered as the came out into the cold night air. The sky was clear and the full moon shone bright.

Jerizael walked briskly towards the hill where she had sent Rellin to her true end. As she reached the top, she looked out across the valley surrounding the hill and looked for any light among the dark land. Nothing. With a sigh, she stooped down on the ground and plunged into death.

The cool rush of the first precinct lapped at her ankles and the grey light that covered the water was crisp and still. A glance in either direction showed nothing. She waded silently through the precinct with practiced steps. She could just feel a nagging pull in the back of her mind. Something was close. Probably in the next precinct. Words of power burned her mouth as she stepped through the first gate and into the second precinct. The pull was much stronger now, and seemed to turn her in the proper direction. She took cautious steps, making sure not to fall into any of the deep gaps of the river. Suddenly, she felt something pulling her down. She was forced into a crouching position, water lapping at her knees and chest.

She glanced up and around, searching for the source of the power that had manipulated her so easily. There: a figure that resembled a young man stood before her. His body was wreathed in flowing, burning flesh and steam rose from the water he stood in.

"I've been wondering if you'd come, Abhorsen." The words were burning and rimmed with the metallic tang of Free Magic. The necromancer suddenly bolted forward, drawing a blade licked with flame. He stopped, sword inches from her face, and gave a soft chuckle. "I really expected better from you."

She stood, unwillingly, and then tipped backwards. "You know what happens if I drop you, of course." His hand was resting in the air, tilted parallel to her body as if she were his puppet. He tipped it farther down, and she went with it. They both knew that just below her was a deep, deep pit. If she was lucky, she'd be carried away by the current before she drowned. If she was lucky.

Jerizael instinctively reached for her bells. Her hand went all the way down the line, lingering over each one to choose. The Necromancer waited for her to make a move. She undid the strap over Ranna, and began to ring it.

"Wrong choice," his voice was raw with Free Magic and she felt her self tipping slowly down. The water hit her back just as she twirled the bell with her practiced hand. The figure chuckled once more, unaffected by the bell. Then, Jerizael did something he hadn't expected. Her lips pursed and she whistled, clear and true. The deep sound mixed with the light, sleepy tune of Ranna. It was the equivalent of Saraneth, the binder. The two sounds seemed to dance around the figure before her, and then she felt herself pulled up lazily and set into an upright position. The Necromancer grimaced and felt himself being weighted to the ground by the power of the Abhorsen.

Jerizael pulled out her Charter spelled sword and swung it quickly towards his throat, stopping only centimeters away. He flinched, expecting contact. She waited for him to make the next move. He remained still, and then she saw the slight crease of a smile wrinkling his moving, burning flesh. She noticed the sound of water lapping around Free-Magic flesh to late. She spun open, leaving her sword on his throat and flipped Ranna back into its pouch in exchange for Kibeth. A quick flick of the bell into the air and she could control the dead beings movements for only a while. This was a strong foe, probably from beyond at least the fourth gate.

A black shadow of a Sixth Gate Rester loomed in the water, stopped only feet away from Jerizael. She focused all of her strength to jolt it away, so she could deal with the Necromancer. As she turned back, he lunged forward and grabbed her sword arm at the wrist. She cried out in pain as his flame-wreathed hand twisted her arm, but she would not let go of her sword. His face was close to hers, and she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

"Nice try, Abhorsen," the words seemed to choke Jerizael, as the familiar tang burned through her throat.

By now, the dead being had made its way back and stood tentatively behind the necromancer. "Master Avis," it said through a newly fashioned mouth of dark flame, "The gore crows report that their Majesties are traveling now; with little protection."

The Necromancers eyes widened, and an upsetting grin grew on his face. Jerizael fought to ignore the pain, as she tried to inconspicuously replace Kibeth with another, much more threatening bell. Her hand stopped inches from the buckle over Astarael, frozen by the necromancer's power. She grimaced slightly.

"If you would excuse me, Abhorsen? I have more pressing matters at the moment. I'll be back for you later." He wrenched his hand off of her wrist and shoved her down into the water with surprising strength. "Make sure she stays, slave!" he spat, and then disappeared into the First Precinct.

Jerizael looked cautiously at the being. It was large, and very malleable, constantly changing from one shape to the next. It had consumed many lives, and wasn't sure which it preferred. Jerizael stood, wringing out her surcoat, and sheathing her sword. She delicately held her injured wrist. It was swelling, a good sign of a sprain or possibly a fracture. She whispered a spell of healing and numbing, the Charter Marks wrapping around the wound like a bandage. The dead creature grunted, and muttered "don't do that again," although the threat seemed empty and half-hearted. He didn't seem too excited about being left behind to watch the prisoner, when there were lives to be consumed in Life.

"You want to return to Life, don't you?" Jerizael asked, her voice as innocent as she could manage.

"Of course," it was smug and peevish, "What does it matter to the Abhorsen?"

"Who is that Avis to control a Sixth Gate Rester like yourself? Let's make a bargain. I won't stop you from returning to Life, if you don't stop me?" She bit the inside of her cheek and shut her eyes, bracing herself for an attack. But none came.

"He will find out. I will be punished."

Silence.

"Okay, you've got yourself a deal."

Jerizael took a sharp breath. Had that really just worked? The stood, baffled, for a second or two as the large black shadow waded slowly toward Life. She quickly turned and began to do the same, keeping a good distance away fro m the creature. Now she just had to get to their majesties before this Avis character did. _This should prove interesting._ She thought.


End file.
